The Worst Takes Its Time To Come,

In Spite Of All The Refinements Of Civilization That Conspired To Make Art--the Dizzying Perfection Of The String Quartet Or The Sprawling Grandeur Of Fragonard's Canvases--beauty Was Savage. It Was As Dangerous And Lawless As The Earth Had Been Eons Before Man Had One Single Coherent Thought In His Head Or Wrote Codes Of Conduct On Tablets Of Clay. Beauty Was A Savage Garden.

Yes, I Know," "and I Love To Hear You Say It, Louis. I Need To Hear You Say It. I Don't Think Anyone Will Ever Say It Quite Like You Do. Come On, Say It Again. I'm A Perfect Devil. Tell Me How Bad I Am. It Makes Me Feel So Good!

The Human Heart Is My School.

There Are Too Many Other Inexplicable Things Around Us--horrors, Threats, Mysteries That Draw You In And Then Inevitably Disenchant You. Back To The Predictable And Humdrum. The Prince Is Never Going To Come, Everybody Knows That; And Maybe Sleeping Beauty's Dead.

Oh Lestat, You Deserved Everything That's Ever Happened To You. You Better Not Die. You Might Actually Go To Hell.